From the Ashes

Who: Everyone!
Where: The mysteriously-acquired floating pavilion on the lake.
When: Sunday night, 11 PM, after the kiddies are in bed.
What: The 'virus is cured, we have all slept for a full day, and everyone is alive!' party.

You can get to the white pavilion on the lake via magical means, or there are the first-year rowboats tucked up on the bank available for use. It's hard to miss; there are dozens of candles lighting up the night sky, and the pavilion itself is the size of a small house. There are bottles of champagne and trays of hors d'œuvre lining the walls. There are also over-sized cushions everywhere, so if anyone chooses to spend the night under the stars, that's totally an option. It's been a stressful week; the party might go until dawn.

Who: Gabe and Jon
Where: Gabe's office
When: Saturday morning
What: double, double toil and trouble?


It was really kind of dark down in the basement and there's a moment when Jon's decided that wandering down in the bowels of the castle maybe wasn't such a good idea, even it it was for a good cause (hopefully). That thought's confirmed half a second later, when something brushed against his leg. Half a second later after that, Tom's wet nose made a smear across Jon's palm and had him shouting, "Jesus, Tom, warn a guy!"

Once his heartbeat had settled down, Jon glared down at the dog and said, "Just for that you should tell me where Saporta's office is." Tom huffed and sat down instead. Pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation, Jon tried again, "Tom, come on." The dog settled onto his belly and then flopped over onto his side. Maybe Jon shouldn't have stopped drinking, at least then he'd have a real reason for his headache. A minute later, he finally muttered, "Please." Tom was up and off like a shot before Jon had finished.

He was more than a little out of breath when he rounded the last corner to see Tom sitting in front of a nondescript door. "This is it?" he weezed. Tom yipped and settled back down onto the floor, resting his head on crossed paws. All right then.

Jon raised a hand and knocked on the door. A minute later, when no one answered, he tried again, louder this time. "Saporta? You here?"

Who: Gabe and William
Where: Gabe's alchemical laboratory
When: Friday, nearing midnight
What: The search for a cure

William received Gabe's note from a harried-looking owl as soon as he stepped out of Joe's suite, which probably meant the message had been waiting for a while. The messenger was also Gabe's personal owl, which meant that she probably had another half-dozen deliveries to make tonight after this one. "Sorry," he murmured to the bird, but he didn't have any treats in his pockets, so he got nipped anyway when he took the letter.

It was almost midnight and he was exhausted, as they all were this week, but anything coming from Gabe was a priority and William had volunteered. "Want a ride back down?" he offered in a last-ditch attempt to placate the ruffled owl. He received a baleful look and distinctly unimpressed hoot in response, but she fluttered up onto his shoulder a minute later and only dug her claws in slightly once he started walking, so he considered himself forgiven.

Gabe's door was closed, so William rapped on it lightly before he entered. The owl took off as soon as he pushed the door open, winging over to a more comfortable perch. William closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, looking at Gabe.

"You summoned?"

(Pinned to the staff noticeboard around Thursday lunchtime)

COMRADES!

1) I need a guinea-pig. Cute and furry not necessary (but always charming). MUST have first-hand experience with Bathory's Curse - don't know if you call it that in this country, but if you've swallowed it, you'll know about it.
1a) Failing that, I need someone willing to observe, adjust and possibly respond while I guinea-pig myself.
2) I need an assistant who still has the ability to cast--
No item 2! Pretend nothing happened! Move along!

- GS

Who: Everyone
Where: The Staff Lounge
When: Tuesday morning
What: Emergency staff meeting

William came straight from London to the staff meeting, arriving just as the clock was ticking over to 8 AM. The amount of information collected in the archive was vast, and he'd worked through two nights to look at as much of it as possible, not wanting to waste any time. Whatever the students had was getting worse, and still spreading. Over the week and a half since they'd first noticed it, at least four dozen students had developed magic fatigue and an increased inability to perform spells. The affected first- and second-years were all but Muggles. He didn't even know that a quarantine would help them at this point, but that was undoubtedly one of the things they were here to discuss.

Most of the seats were taken when he arrived, and the number of people in the room meant that the way to the sideboard was blocked. He cast a pleading look at Pete for a cup of tea, settling in the corner and shuffling his notes out of the way so he could draw a small vial out of the pocket of his robe; one which Gabe probably shouldn't see. If he was going to get through the day, though, he needed something slightly stronger than caffeine.

"How are the students?" he asked, glancing around the room and blinking back the threatening exhaustion. "Any change?"

WHO: Adam and Gabe
WHERE: The Grounds; Coming from Hogsmeade
WHAT: YOU. YOU ARE THE WEREWOLF. Um. Or something.
WHEN: Late Monday Evening (10/5)

Adam was definitely not a fan of walking from the village to the castle in the dark. In fact, he hadn't actually planned on walking anywhere but from the gate straight to his rooms to go back to sleep, but upon attempting to Disapparate to the gates, he'd realized that not only was he absolutely physically exhausted... he was also magically exhausted as well. Again. He'd smoothly explained that he was just going to walk through the village before Disapparting, not wanting to freak out his wife, but walking?

Yeah, it was a bit of a trek, actually. And the gates were giving him shit. He may have sworn at them and they may have gotten a bit angry with him, but no one would ever be able to prove it. Unless the gates suddenly developed the ability to talk, which, considering how Adam's luck had been running the past few weeks... was probably pretty likely.

He finally managed to convince the gates to let him through, with what little magic he could manage leaving him kind of wanting to just take a seat in the grass and sit for a moment. Really, he was going to get up any minute and head the rest of the way in. Seriously. It was just, he was tired. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this tired, but he was pretty sure he wasn't even this tired when his son was a newborn and never slept. But he manged to get to his feet, managed to continue on down the path, weaving only a little bit, half-asleep on his feet.

Well, at the very least, it was dark enough there wasn't likely to be anyone hanging around on the grounds, and dinner had already passed, so he could sneak in and get a few more hours of sleep and surely be okay by morning. Right?

We're jumping the gun a little on this, but we're excited, so there.

WHO: Gabe, Ryland, and their fairy godmother (aka Pete)
WHERE: The hitwizard lock-up in Diagon Alley
WHEN: Sunday morning (after Hogsmeade Saturday)
WHAT: Um. Yes. We can totally explain everything, officer.

Someone was poking Gabe in the ribs. "Salga," he mumbled. "Cinco más minutos." He flailed at the poker, wriggling around to get more under the blanket and burrowing into his pillow. But his pillow turned into a toucan and stuck feathers up his nose, so he pushed it away and clutched onto--

--someone's ankle?

He opened one eye (the other one being squished against some flat surface that was a lot harder than he remembered his bed being) and winced. Madre de dios, it was fucking bright in here. With a whimper, Gabe wedged an elbow under himself and levered himself up on it, which was immediately proven to be a bad idea because his stomach and head spun in different directions, plus something yanked at his neck. Something was fluffy and around his neck and his elbow was on it and it was a shade of red that should definitely be fucking illegal at this hour of the morning and, "What the actual fuck?" Gabe said out loud, small and plaintive. Why was he wearing a feather boa?

Oh... hang on...

He looked up, squinting, and yes, the light was coming in between the, er, well... bars. Of the cell.

"Well," he said. "Fuck." And slumped back down. Ow.

WHO: Gabe and William (with student cameos)
WHERE: Briefly the library, then Gabe's den of sin education
WHAT: An ambush down memory lane
WHEN: Thursday, just before lunch

The two girls - probably seventh year students, judging by stature alone - came into the library on a gust of giggles, a brunette with a blue tie loosely knotted around her neck, and a Slytherin whose original hair colour was probably extremely dull under the welter of streaks natural and non. She wound multi-hued strands of it around a finger as she leaned on the library counter in a reasonable facsimile of winsome; her associate just smiled a little tremulously and handed over a folded scrap of parchment, sealed with a blob of congealed charms.

"Sir--" the Slytherin started, only to be elbowed by her Ravenclaw friend. There followed a flurry of fierce whispering, with occasionally audible bits like, "just die" and "shut up".

( Note charmed unopenable to all but William Beckett )

I know what you're done and I'm extremely cross with you. I am, however, happy to accept bribes in lieu of appropriate revenge.

yours,
peter lewis kingston wentz III

Who: Gabe and Spencer
Where: Gabe's mad scientific lab. Or, uh, the dungeons.
When: Friday afternoon, after 7th period.
What: Help.

The sugar rush of last night's midnight snack now most decidedly worn off, Spencer almost tripped down the stairs on his way down to the dungeons, stumbling heavily over the stone. One day soon, he thought grimly, he was going to be able to -- to function again, properly, or something. He'd sat in class today with instructions written up on the board and slumped in his chair for as much time as possible, and most of his students had, unbelievably, picked up on the need to be quiet and not disturbed him. Still, it had been a pretty shocking day.

The dungeons were darker and cooler than the rest of the castle, though, which Spencer's aching head was decidedly grateful for. He slipped down the long passageway to Gabe's classrooms and office, passing a few third year Gryffindors coming up and debating loudly about something or other that Spencer couldn't really pay attention to, until he was standing in the doorway of the potions classroom, looking about hopefully.

"Hello?" he called. "Are you here, Gabe?"

who: ryland and gabe
where: ryland's classroom
when: free period
what: a rigorous vetting process

Ryland was spending today's free period in a valient, if mostly fruitless, attempt at organizing the bookshelves at the back of his room. He could just do it by magic, but these books were old and unruly, so half of them refused to budge without being physically picked up and rearranged.

"You know," he said, glaring sternly at a particularly stubborn text on 15th Century wizards. "Just because you're two centuries old, it doesn't mean you aren't flammable."

Who: Gabe and Dallon
Where: High table in the Great Hall
When: Wednesday morning, over the dregs of breakfast.
What: Working down Gabe's list in a systematic fashion. Well, slightly systematic.

The cutlery in the Great Hall was stainless steel, even at the high table. Gabe had checked. (And stainless steel, how prosaic was that? The ceiling was enchanted with some of the most jaw-dropping magic Gabe had ever seen in motion, and that included all his travels, but the silverware was steel. Whatever.) Gabe had been all ready to go switcheroo on the eating irons, but thankfully he'd thought better of it. He might have been as enthusiastic about this as though it were part game and part hunt, but for the werewolf - whoever it was - this was a carefully guarded secret, and his life. A little care was warranted, and silver-burns to the tongue were hardly discreet, not to mention being a really bad beginning to what Gabe actually wanted to be a useful working relationship.

So, plan B.

He had a free session first up on Wednesday and - what do you know! - so did their new Arithmancy professor, Dallon Weekes, currently top of Gabe's "sure, he's a suspicious fucker, but is he a suspicious furry fucker" list. Gabe was often one of the last to be dragged away from the breakfast table, if he even made it at all, so no one was going to look askance if he lingered after the rest of them had trudged off to their early-morning darlings. Once the population had thinned out markedly, Gabe gathered up his Stuff, shoved his last piece of toast between his teeth, and scooted the few chairs down to slide in next to Professor Weekes.

"So hey," he said, indistinct around the mouthful of toast, arranging his jug of coffee and special little tankard thingy. "Dallon, man. Sorry. Can I call you that? We haven't really had a chance to talk. I'm always in the fucking dungeons, right?" All of it delivered with Gabe's sunniest grin.

who: brofriends gabe & pete
where: forbidden forest
when: half past drunk o'clock
what: ostensibly, evaluating the security of the school's borders

The problem was not that Pete was drunk. No, the problem was that there were so few opportunities lately for bald-faced drunkenness that Pete's hard-earned alcohol tolerance was decreasing dismayingly.

Thus, it wasn't a problem that he was so intoxicated he had three times been startled by the presence of his own hand, but it was certainly indicative of a more troublesome and widespread issue. "It's no wonder our teachers were such insufferable bores," he announced, apropos of nothing. "If it was like this for them."

He gestured expansively with the bottle in his hand and found the backs of his knuckles unexpectedly wet. Some sort of highly isolated freak rain flurry, probably.

Who: Gabe and William
When: Friday night, circa half-past nine
Where: Library
What: Gabe needs - needs, this is a physical requirement, you understand - to make fun of William over this shit.

Pete owed William some money, because Gabe's sixth-period sixth-year class? Had barely been able to get to the third stage of their Salamander Draught for discussing the "hot professorial hook-up", as one brazen Hufflepuff referred to it. Gabe? Gabe was flexible - they switched to Amortentia and didn't get much more done practically, but he still thought the kids actually learned some theory.

Anyway, by the time Gabe had had dinner, cleared up the classroom, entertained a couple of kids with burning questions (including one fifth-year Slytherin possibly in the midst of a burgeoning sexuality crisis, but he'd never actually got around to admitting he had a crush on the librarian so that Gabe could assure him that was just a sign of excellent taste) there was absolutely time to drop past the library before it was time to terrorise his snakely charges into being in bed not more than half an hour after curfew.

"Bill. Baby. Mi amor." Gabe came striding into library, dodged a pair of third-years, and draped himself melodramatically across William's counter. "Pete? Really? You're breaking my heart, here."

That might have been more believable if a) he wasn't grinning like a loon, and b) he hadn't passed Wentz in the corridor on the way here and given him a congratulatory high-five and arse-slap.

Professor Saporta,

A need has arisen for a certain potion made of aconite, with which I believe you are familiar. I am given to believe that the brewing of this particular potion is both time-consuming and difficult, and am therefore prepared to offer you monetary compensation as you deem appropriate, within reason. At the present time I estimate there will be demand for nine batches, of only a single dose each.

As I suspect other matters may keep me from the weekly staff meetings, please leave the potion in my office along with any necessary instructions under the label syzygy. On the off-chance that a student should come across it, I would prefer the contents remain undisclosed; there are those with good reason to fear what such a potion might suggest. I’ll see to it that the potion is delivered to its intended recipient. The password to my office is heliotropy, should I be absent at the time of your visit.

You have my sincere gratitude and appreciation, should you agree to this request; and as you may have guessed from the potion in question, I would not be the only one indebted to you.

Sincerely,
Headmaster Schechter

P.S. Tempting as the possession of that password may be, my office does have a recording charm on the lock, so you may wish to refrain from taking advantage of that knowledge without due need.

Who Anyone and everyone
What Staff party
When Eleven and any time after on Friday
Where Pete and Brendon's Magical Muggle Pool Ballroom

For the evening, they've given up on the dream of muggle accuracy and the whole thing is decked out magically; the pool is full, but the water glows for no apparent reason. Brendon has decked shit out with trees, there are portraits of jungle animals hung on the walls in various parts of the ~forest that make their applicable noises, and there's even a "beach" of pure white sand. The ceiling is charmed to look like the night sky, complete with a moon about half-full (just in case there are any werewolves in attendance whose biology might get confused), and there is a "cabana" of sorts with food and more alcohol than you can shake a stick at.

It's a casual affair and, despite Pete's careful wording on the invitation, the point, plain and simple, is to get wasted.

[OOC: basically a free for all where time is fluid and threads can be started all willy nilly!]

Who: Gabe and Spencer
When: Backdated like fucking crazy to shortly after this owl landed
Where: The greenhouses
What: "So, Slytherin, huh? What does that shit really mean?"

Hola Abuela, look at me now, Gabe was thinking, leaping down the front stairs of the castle two at a time. Of course, he wasn't actually sure that his maternal grandma would believe any more than he did that he had been made head of a house he barely understood at a school he hadn't attended in a country to whom he owed no allegiance, but had fought for regardless.

Gabe didn't actually live his life to fuck with his grandmother's head, but it was a nice perk.

It was a lovely evening, and despite the fact that he whined from October right through to April every year he'd been in this benighted country so far, Gabe would readily admit that one of the good points of being this far north was how long the sunlight lasted in summer. It was rich and golden, pouring over him like honey as he strode down the lawn towards the still battered-looking greenhouses, wherein he really hoped he was going to find Spencer Smith. Because if he was going to be head of Slytherin, and the owl from Schechter suggested he was -- and oh look, he was still holding that, better shove it in a pocket or something. Where was he? Right. Being head of Slytherin. Maybe knowing a bit more about the house than Pete's drunken prejudices and the layout of their dorms might be a good idea.

"Anyone alive in there?" he called out, as he came up towards the entrance to the main greenhouse.

Who: Gabe & Travie (and William!)
Where: Gabe's den (also known as his office in the dungeons)
What: Working! Totally working! Or, perhaps, skiving off, talking shit and smoking up.
When: Evening (say, the evening before the kiddies come back?)

The good thing about Travis coming down to visit him in his office was that Gabe could tinker with the gently bubbling contents of his cauldron (weird-smelling too, but he wasn't inhaling too deeply since he leaned over it and got mugged by imaginary fluffy bunnies) while they talked. The better thing about Travis coming down to visit was that Gabe could (and did! it never gets old!) give him shit about his reluctance to set foot in anything lower than the Great Hall before Gabe spent most of a month realigning the qi down here. But the best thing about Travis coming down was that he brought his weed with him.

Gabe exhaled sweet-smelling smoke, which mingled with the orange steam rising from the cauldron and sent a shower of tiny feathered wisps of something back down into the brew. Huh. Interesting. He kept one eye on the potion as he stretched out to pass the joint back to Travis, but it didn't seem inclined to explode, disappear or even transmute. Oh well. He'd still make a note of it. Or would as soon as he could find his quill. He lifted his notebook, his reference books, rummaged among the pile of chestnuts, peered under the cauldron. "Hey man," he said, a little muffled by his cheek against the desk, "my quill over there?"

Who: Gabe and William
Where: The lake
When: Mid-morning
What: Welcoming the new Potions Master back to Hogwarts. Oh, and a bloody great boat.


The arrival of a magical galleon surfacing in the lake on its way across the ocean from Spain wasn't exactly something you could pinpoint, so William had settled on the shore with a book on Tasmanian Devils (the evil spirits, not the furry animals) just after breakfast and morning tea to wait for the inimitable Gabriel Saporta.

He'd finished two chapters and experienced one false alarm due to the giant squid when he felt the rumble of the earth beneath him and saw ripples dart hastily across the surface of the lake like fish escaping a whale. He closed his book and was preparing to stand and dust the grass off his robe when a sudden quake knocked him off-balance. There was a roar from the center of the lake, and then a tremendous ship broke the surface, easily the size of a giant with broad sails that snapped into the wind with a wet slap, the bow pushing a wall of water ahead as it emerged.

William's eyes widened. He had just enough time to draw his wand and get out, "Imper-" before the tidal wave crashed down over him and lake water choked the rest of the spell.

He coughed a few times, spitting out water and a slimy strand of something that he sincerely hoped was seaweed, and wiped his drenched hair out of his eyes. Well. With a grand entrance like that, hopefully Gabe didn't mind too much being greeted by a drowned rat.